


well you must be a girl with moves like that

by chasingforeverandaday



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/M, Hockey, Ice Skating, No Strings Attached, Smut, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingforeverandaday/pseuds/chasingforeverandaday
Summary: She totally didn’t have a crush on him after he walked out of the locker room shirtless all those years ago, abs glistening after his shower. He was absolutely not guilty of watching all of her competitions online, mesmerized by the way she could glide across the ice on a single blade. There's no reason why having a no strings fling while competing on the biggest stage in sports is a bad idea.Yeah, there's definitely no way that can go wrong.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 64
Kudos: 242





	well you must be a girl with moves like that

**Author's Note:**

> So the "No Strings Attached" prompt for Gendrya Week just screamed Olympics to me for some reason. Plus, I really wanted to write hockey player!Gendry because HOCKEY IS BACK and also the Blackhawks just made the actual playoffs last night, so I'm on about cloud nine thousand. 
> 
> As a note, I did use some real life players and skaters for pieces of inspiration here, but that was mostly to make sure the career checkpoints were somewhat realistic. Not that it makes a huge difference, however this takes place in a world where NHL players were allowed to go to the Olympics in 2018, so I mayyyy have switched a few things up for the sake of the fic. 
> 
> Title is technically a misquote from the classic "Chelsea Dagger", because I am and always shall be, a basic Blackhawks bitch.

Flashing strobe lights. Red maple leaves everywhere.

Pounding beat of a bass. A roaring crowd too drunk on the atmosphere to care.

The sticky traces of spilled beer all over the floor. A sly smile, a shy smile, whispered words into a sweaty neck. Hands in back pockets and covering waists, roaming along skin and under shirts proudly proclaiming their wearer’s allegiances.

Welcome to Canada House, home to athletes from all walks of life, united in one goal: bring home the gold.

* * *

Gendry wakes abruptly when his bed suddenly shifts, the other occupant launching themselves up in a hurry. Yawning, he sits up to watch as the petite brunette hurriedly darts around his room, cursing under her breath all the while. Content to simply watch her, he lets himself stare once more at all the skin he’d been so graciously allowed to explore the night before. 

She had her bra and jeans on, and now seems to be searching for the red Team Canada shirt she’d been wearing yesterday, muttering growing louder with every passing minute. Finally Arya looked up at him, the scowl on her face softening quickly as she leaned down to give him a short kiss.

“Hi. Morning. Practice,” she rattled off, lunging across the bed, pretty much stretched over his lap as she plucked her shirt from where it had managed to hide under her abandoned pillow, then just as quickly she was back up, voice muffled slightly by the plaid flannel. “I’ll call you later! Or see you or whatever!” Shirt successfully yanked over her head, she fluffed her hair out as she ran out the door, a casual “Bye!” thrown over her shoulder.

Grinning to himself like a maniac, Gendry collapsed backwards into his pillow, running a hand over his face. He considered going back to sleep for a few hours, before he too had to head to the rink for practice, but without her there, his bed didn’t feel anywhere near as welcoming. It felt empty, and far too wide for just him.

Even though it had only been a week, he could already recognize just how terrible they both were at this whole “no strings attached” thing. But the idea of having someone to come back to at the end of the night, someone who might understand at least a little bit of what the other was feeling, no matter what shit had happened during his hockey games or her routines, well, it was just too tempting to pass up.

The explosively good sex didn’t exactly hurt either.

In any case, he decided to stop thinking about his decision to have a fling or whatever this was with Arya Stark, and instead put that brain power into crushing the Czech team tomorrow. His captain would undoubtedly be ready for breakfast by now, so Gendry heaved himself up, getting ready to start the day a little earlier than he planned. 

* * *

That first night, all she feels is the buzz of competition in her veins, so hyped up from the Opening Ceremony that she couldn’t see straight. Though Syrio would have preferred that she skip the festivities, she’d put her foot down and chosen to spend the time with her brothers, set the Stark Wolf Pack loose for a few hours before they all had to put on their game faces. With Jon at her back, Robb on her left, and Rickon on her right, she’s invincible, so ready to take the ice by storm for the team event in a few days.

It seems like the entirety of the Canadian delegation has the same idea, because the common areas are packed with a bouncing sea of red and white. Rickon loses himself in the crowd almost immediately, and while her mother’s reminders to keep an eye on her youngest brother ring in her head, Arya knows the wild wolf can handle himself.

She stays with Robb and Jon, content to drink in the hectic mood before diving in herself. They wander over to another group of hockey players, some of whom she’s known since her brothers played in Juniors, what feels like a lifetime ago. These boys treat her like most hockey players do, the fragile little figure skater who doesn’t know a cross check from a charge. 

One in particular, an Elmar Frey who’ll no doubt be riding the bench all tournament, even offers to show her how to hold his hockey stick. From the obscene leer and wiggling eyebrows, he means exactly what it sounds like, possibly one of the worst pickup lines she’s ever heard. With a glance to her brothers, who look just as disgusted as she feels right now, she flips him off and ducks over to the bar, deciding he’s not even worth her time.

That’s when she sees him. Gendry Waters. Star of her teenage daydreams ever since he walked out of the visitors locker room shirtless after one of Jon’s games, accidentally turning into the hallway where she was waiting for her brother. He’d been damp, abs still glistening from the shower and damp black hair curling against his forehead. She didn’t think he’d even noticed her gaping at him, too busy digging through his bag for the t-shirt that soon covered up her incredibly attractive view.

And by all the gods, he looked even more gorgeous now, almost a decade later. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones chiseled, and those intense blue eyes of his were glaring off into the distance in a way that really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. The Team Canada flannel stretched tight over strong shoulders and was rolled up to his elbows, revealing a pair of forearms that Arya wanted wrapped around her waist and holding her up against a wall. Or his chest, she wasn’t picky. The dark lighting hid anything below the belt, but if growing up around a bunch of hockey players has taught her anything, it’s that she can expect him to have a gloriously toned ass. 

So maybe Arya had found what she wanted to do tonight, and it had nothing to do with getting wasted, but everything to do with fucking that man six ways til Sunday. She draws her ogling back to his face, pleasantly surprised to see him staring just as intently at her, definite heat in his gaze as it wandered up her legs. When he realized that she had caught him, he blushed a violent red and started to turn away, but she was already headed towards him, plans of how exactly she wanted him playing through her mind.

Stopping in front of Gendry, she finds she still has to tilt her head up just a little, he’s that much taller than her even sitting on a barstool. Molten blue eyes hold her gaze, and she dares to place a hand on one of his thighs, feeling all the thick muscles tense beneath his jeans.

Licking her lips lightly, she breathes out, “Hi.”

He opens his mouth, though nothing comes out until after he has to clear his throat rather loudly. “Hi, Arya.” He freezes, backtracking quickly, “I mean, hi, I’m Gendry Waters, and you’re Arya Stark. Obviously you know that, I just meant…” Taking pity on him, she puts a stop to his adorable stuttering by placing a finger to his lips, smirking at this enormous man turning into a blushing mess all the while.

Removing her finger, Arya steps closer to stand between his spread thighs, so close she can feel the heat he radiates like a furnace. “So you know who I am?”

“Of course I do.” He seems almost offended that she thinks he wouldn’t, an eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You’re Arya Stark, I’ve never met anyone who can do what you can on a pair of skates. Plus,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed, but all she sees are the tight veins running down his forearm, “three of your brothers are on the hockey team. I’d have to be deaf not to have heard them brag about you.”

Internally she deflates a little, because she’s never met a man willing to stand up to her brothers when it came to her, especially not a hockey player. It went against their fucking “bro code” or whatever. But then a warm hand lands on her waist, and _oh_ , maybe that day has finally come.

Doing her best not to start pawing at him like a bitch in heat, she traces a hand along his shoulder and down his arm, playing with his fingers when she reaches his hand. “Well then, I guess I can admit that I know just who you are Gendry Waters. Back to being a Chicago Blackhawk left wing, two time Stanley Cup champion, and you really should have won that Calder.” Looking up through her lashes, she bit her lip, watching as his eyes dropped to memorize the shape of her mouth as she let it go. 

Tipping his chin back up with a light touch, she pressed up on tiptoe to meet him head on. Brushing her mouth gently to his, it’s not even a true kiss, just a hopeful glimpse of things to come. He chases her lips as she pulls away, managing to suck the bottom one into his mouth before she lightly, but firmly pushes him back. 

He looks confused, but also definitely aroused, which means her teasing is working like a charm. “Since it seems that we do in fact know each other, what do you say we take this discussion somewhere more… _private_?” 

The insinuation and eyebrow raise are enough that he immediately stands and laces her fingers with his. Letting him drag her towards an exit is an easy decision, the damp arousal between her legs only growing more pronounced as she watches Gendry use his not insignificant size to move people from their path. Clutching his hand tightly, she’s practically running in order to keep up with his far longer strides, and nearly crashes into his back when he stops after finally making it outside.

Looking over his shoulder, his voice is low and gravelly as he asks, “You sure about this?”

“‘This’ being the hot, sweaty sex we’re going to have as soon as we make it back to a dorm room? Yes, I most certainly am ready.” Moving around him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and then leapt up, trusting those famed hockey reflexes of his to catch her. He does, because of course he does, and she wraps her legs around his trim waist as they stand there in their own little world, just outside of a raucous party that includes half of her family. Leaning in, she nips at his earlobe and challenges, “The better question is, are you?”

Gendry doesn’t answer verbally, but instead chooses to hike her further up his abdomen, so she’s finally towering over him as he turns them to place her against the wall. His mouth zeroes in on her neck, and she happily bares it to him, revelling in the wet suction he provides. He hits _that spot_ , that spot that everyone else had found once and subsequently ignored, that spot that without fail drives her insane, and he listens. He hears the gasp that pulls its way out of her, the hitch in her breathing as he scrapes the tender skin with his teeth. 

Arya can’t bite back the moan bubbling up, so instead she covers her mouth with a fist, and feels him chuckle against her throat. Wrenching his head backwards, she leans down to drown them both in another kiss, wet and filthy and made of promises of things yet to come. However, said things would have to wait until they found an empty room, preferably with a bed, but definitely with a lock.

Out of breath, she pants harshly against his lips as she demands, “Mine or yours?”

“Yours,” he responds immediately. “I doubt you want your brothers wandering in while we’re in the middle of something.”

“Oh please, my mother has them better trained than that,” she snorts, although the mental image of Robb and Jon’s expressions should that happen were kind of hilarious.

Gendry raised one of those dark brows, letting a devastating smirk cross his face.“Well, considering Rickon started going through my suitcase in front of me yesterday, I doubt manners are the first thing on his mind.” He unhooked her legs from his waist, slowly dropping her to her feet as she slid all the way down his front. The man truly was built like an ox, tall and thick with muscles in all the right places.

Grabbing his hand, she started to march towards her own dorm, his loping strides easily matching hers. “Okay, but that’s Rickon. We’re pretty sure he was replaced by a wild animal as a baby and Mom and Dad just forgot to tell us after they removed his tail.” She glanced back at him, and he had his mouth open like he wanted to ask for clarification, but obviously decided better of it, choosing instead to smile at her, those dimples of his in full effect. 

Unable to let the silence settle over them, they chat for the ten minutes it takes them to get to her building, going back and forth rapidly as they compare their experiences so far here in South Korea. Casually, she mentions that she trains in Chicago now, has for a few years, and the pleased look on his face gives her butterflies. She squashes them down, knowing this night probably isn’t any more to him than a simple hook-up, even if for her it’s the culmination of a teenager’s fantasies. 

Dragging him up to her room is easy enough, and luckily Lyanna had already vacated the room after a rather hasty text when Arya realized that perhaps giving her roommate a heads up would be a good idea. Of course, Lyanna being the little shit that she is, the lights are turned down low, there’s somehow jazz music coming from the laptop on the desk, and an array of condoms is artfully spread over Arya’s nightstand.

She whips around, excuse on her lips, but the words die as she sees his heated expression, blue eyes turning darker by the second as he takes in the display. She reaches for him and he reaches for her, colliding in the middle in a rush of lips and hands.

He picks her up again, as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather, and walks them over to her bed, correctly assuming hers was the one without a pile of clothes on it. Lowering them both, he lays her out beneath him, one foot still on the floor as his hands venture under the layers of shirts that she’s wearing.

“This still good?” he murmurs into her mouth between kisses, as if she isn’t working his shirt open button by button, already planning on how to strip herself bare without completely losing contact with him, his skin too addicting to stop stroking even for a second. 

And if she weren’t so focused on getting naked, she probably would have appreciated his question more, but in any case, “Yep, and you?” It’s his turn to look confused, so she raises a brow and specifies, “I mean, I only saw you with the one beer, but…”

Smiling, he kisses her again before adding, “I’m good, only took a couple of sips before you stole my breath away.”

His comment startles a genuine laugh out of her, forcing her to pause in her exploration to just hold onto him tight enough that she doesn’t roll out of the too skinny bed. Gasping, she says, “Oh gods, that was terrible!”

“Still made you laugh though,” Gendry grins proudly, looking far too pleased with himself. And then she has to kiss that expression away, reminding him explicitly of just why they’d escaped to her room. One of his hands makes its way into her pants, sliding through the wetness that had been soaking her panties since she’d first set eyes on him. He removes it just as quickly, joining her in her quest to get rid of all the fabric separating them fro being skin on skin.

Once they’re both finally naked, she lets herself enjoy the wonders that hockey has done for Gendry’s body. Every inch of him is sinewy muscle, not the gross, overexaggerated kind she’s seen too often at the gym, but the ones that make him so solidly strong and warm. And yes, he has an ass far better than hers, round and tight and so fucking huge. It’s distinctly possible that she wants to bite it, but for now she’s satisfied with merely squeezing it. 

In the soft lighting his eyes are fathomless, deep pools of a blue so dark it appears the same inky black as his hair. One of his hands comes up to cradle her face, leaning in to kiss her before he pulls back to reach for one of the many condoms Lyanna had oh so thoughtfully provided them. 

Gendry kisses her at the same time he presses into her, sparks flying behind her eyelids at the stretching feeling and utter fullness that follows once he’s completely sheathed inside. It’s been awhile, but his cock seems to fit her just right, pressing into every nerve ending in a way that promises greatness very, very soon. 

Slowly but surely, they find their rhythm, each push and pull smoother than the last. He adjusts his angle slightly, and on the next thrust manages to brush up against her clit in exactly the right way to make her howl in pleasure. Her nails rake down his back and he hisses, hands clenching around her waist before fixing one of her thighs around his hip, pressing even deeper.

From there it’s a frenzy to finish, each doing their best to wring every ounce of pleasure out of the other before they both collapsed. As they lay there, him half on top of her as they catch their breath, Arya runs an absentminded hand through his hair, playing with the sweaty strands as she waits for him to get up and leave her. Instead, he nuzzles closer to her throat and starts kissing it again, this time lighter, more affectionate than she’d have ever guessed he would be with a one night stand.

His voice floats to her in the quiet night air. “Would you want to do this again?”

“Right now?” she laughs, because as good as that was, that was not happening again this soon if she wanted to be able to walk tomorrow, or look her coach in the eye.

“No, I meant,” he pauses, and she lets him because that little flame of hope is kindling in her chest again. “I meant, while we’re here, at the Olympics, would you want to see me again and do that again?” It’s not exactly eloquent poetry, but she’ll take what she can get right now, there’s always a chance that they can build on it later.

“Gendry Waters, are you asking me for a no strings attached, what happens in Pyeongchang, stays in Pyeongchang, type of relationship?” If she ignores the disappointment stemming from the fact that he doesn’t want more, she’s incredibly flattered that his beautiful, funny man is interested in seeing her again.

“Kind of? I mean, sure, but also, like…” he trails off, suddenly very preoccupied by the hand trailing down his chest and the lips at his neck, losing the train of thought for good when slim fingers wrap around a cock that has very quickly hardened again.

“Well, then it seems I’ve found my second wind, and we should celebrate that decision.” Arya Stark rolls him over and climbs on top of him with a mischievous smirk, and nothing has ever mattered more.

* * *

It had been just over a week and he still couldn’t get enough of her. They’d basically abandoned all pretense of spending their nights apart, it didn’t exactly matter much after Arya had walked out of his room and straight into her brothers the morning after she won team gold. It had been awkward as hell at his next practice, what with Rickon trying to take his head off when they were supposed to be linemates, but afterwards Arya must have said _something_ to the three of them, because now they were treating him like any other teammate, minus a confused look or three in his direction.

Honestly, Gendry couldn’t find it within himself to care overmuch about what the infamous trio of Stark brothers thought of him for sleeping with their sister, not when he had Arya looking at him like she wanted nothing more than to climb him like a tree. Since that first night, they barely went a few hours without seeing each other. He’d been pulled into a cold storage room at her rink more than once when he went to watch, her hot mouth finding his before he could ask how her practice was going. The night his team had handily beaten the South Koreans, he found her waiting for him just outside the locker rooms, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as she recounted each of her favorite moments from the game, his hand gently squeezing through the back pocket of her jeans as they walked the campus to go find dinner.

Every time was better than the last as they learned each other, as he figured out just how to make her fall apart with his touch, his mouth, his words. 

Discovering that he could get her off in minutes with little more than his fingers in her cunt and harsh cursing in her ear? Amazing.

Realizing that he maybe (definitely) had a thing for Arya telling him exactly what to do in bed? Possibly life altering.

Getting lost in her was easy and natural, the give and take, ebb and flow unspoken. Somehow in this crazy affair they found themselves caught up in (it wasn’t a relationship, it just couldn’t be), Gendry had managed to find the one woman who could understand his cues without blinking, and gods was it magical between them.

But it was more than just the physical chemistry. It was the way her eyes would light up as she spoke about her Nymeria or how enthusiastically she would go over game tape with him, offering her own observations. It was how simply she’d slipped into his nightly routine, weaving around him in the bathroom while they both brushed their teeth. It was how, even the nights they hadn’t had sex because she had a program the next day, she’d still shown up at his door, saying that she was cold and would rather steal his warmth than go search for some extra blankets. It was the smooth confidence of Arya on the ice, a woman so determined to win that he didn’t think anything could stand in her way. 

It was the fact that he’d told her things he hadn’t told anyone but Davos, about his mom, about the bastard he could call a sperm donor, about growing up in foster care from the time he was eight. In the dark silence of his room, he’d unloaded all of his baggage on her, and she hadn’t shied away. 

Arya had just kept her head tucked into his neck and her fingers doodling shapes into his chest hair. She hadn’t said much after he was done, but had propped herself up on an elbow and leaned down to kiss him, slow and thorough, so intense he’d felt as if he was melting into her. When she finally pulled away, he could just make out the glittering silver of her gaze before she pecked his lips once more and settled herself into his side.

The next night, she’d repaid him in kind, whispering stories of growing up overlooked by her mother, just seen as the too wild girl that couldn’t be handled. Arya confessed to wondering if the only reason her father had let her pursue figure skating as a career was because her mother wouldn’t allow her to follow her brothers into a world of pucks and helmets, because that had truly been her dream for so long, to play the sport that her dad had loved so much too. That it had been as close to her dream as he could get her before he had been killed by a drunk driver, her most solid support system gone in an instant.

She’d dealt with a sister who had broken her down so low with words and ignorance, she’d wanted to leave home and never look back. Arya had thrown herself into skating, promising that she would make her sister and her mother see that she could accomplish more on a pair of skates than just “jumps and floaty nonsense,” as Sansa had once called it. 

With each moment of content quiet, those strings they’d insisted wouldn’t tie them together grew stronger, until Gendry wasn’t sure just how he was supposed to give her up. The idea of not seeing her everyday, let alone not speaking with her, it was unfathomable. 

But they were living on borrowed time. Once this was over, they’d both be back in Chicago, yes, but it would be different. Could they really expect anything to work out in the real world? 

For the sake of his own heart, which grows closer and closer to dropping off that ledge to loving her, he prays they can.

* * *

Arya already has the team event gold in her room, has shown it off a time or two, which never fails to earn her an endless supply of drinks in the Canadian hub. But she wants this one more. She wants the gold for the ladies singles, wants to be able to show that this is something she’d accomplished all on her own. 

And she’s terrified.

There’s only a few skaters left to go, and she’s second to last of everyone. She’d managed to fight her way to third with an almost perfect short program, just behind the pair of Russians she’s been staring down all season. But three of the last four girls have fallen, only Margaery had kept her skates beneath her, though even that was a near thing.

Some are saying that Mel, a senior skater, rumored witch, and all around bitch to deal with, had put a curse on the ice after she landed on her ass coming out of a flubbed triple loop. And normally, Arya would laugh and tell all these girls they’re being idiots, that obviously the ice is just getting beat up from all the action, but this is the Olympics, it’s not like Mel has anything left to lose, and more people have fallen today than should have. So she’s panicking at the idea of crashing and burning here, on the biggest stage of her life.

That panic is the only reason she doesn’t think better of calling Gendry, who said he would try and make it here as soon as he could if his semifinal ended on time, just as Jon had. Robb and Rickon hadn’t even promised that, just told her they were so proud of her and would see her later, not committing one way or another to finding their way into the stands. Of course, the Stark brothers were more likely to be needed for the media scrum after the game than Gendry was, but she was still more than a little upset.

All those thoughts race through her mind as she realizes that the game probably isn’t even over yet, after running through tape with Gendry she knows that Sweden isn’t going to go down without a fight. 

But then he answers on the third ring, sounding vaguely out of breath as he exclaims, “Shit, I didn’t miss it, did I? I’m at the front entrance, but **_for some reason_ ** these men are too busy ogling the ice girls to let me in.” His raised, offended voice makes her smile even as he keeps cursing under his breath, urging whomever he’s dealing with to move faster. 

Whatever trouble it was seemed to have been resolved, because she can hear him jogging on the other end of the line. And something in her just snaps into place, she knows exactly what she needs before she goes on the ice. Suddenly calm, she stops pacing and starts looking for a place to hide from the ever present cameras. “Gendry, I need you to do something for me. If I give you directions, can you find me backstage?”

“Of course, but don’t you have the medal ceremony soon? Or whatever the fuck they’re calling the thing with the stuffed animals?”

His utter surety that she will be standing on that podium makes her crack a smile. “I haven’t even skated yet, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“But then why… you know what? I’ll see you in a minute, just tell me where.” With a quick glance at the board showing the current skater’s warmup, she directs him to a small alcove under the seating, somewhere they can hopefully speak without interruption.

Just after she sneaks in, Gendry jogs up to her, face concerned as he observes each nervous twitch. Before either of them says a word, he reels her in for a hug, letting her burrow herself into his chest, breathing in the clean, fresh scent of his shirt, fingers scrabbling to feel the damp skin of his back as she presses in tighter.

“Hey, hey, Arya.” He pulls back slightly, trying to get a better look at her expression, but she just keeps avoiding his gaze. Finally, he turns her face back to his, studying the nerves and worry in her eyes. Quietly, he asks, “Arya, what’s wrong? You were fine this morning.”

“I’m scared,” she whispers into his chest, half hoping he didn’t hear her, but the tightening of his arms around his disabuse her of that notion very quickly. “I am absolutely fucking terrified that I am about to fall on my ass and make a fool out myself out there on that ice. So please, just hold me for a few minutes? I always feel safe when I’m with you.” By the end of her little speech, she can feel tears forming in her eyes and has to fight back the sob desperately trying to break free.

Gendry makes a little wounded sound before hauling her in even closer, wrapping her up in an embrace and carefully strokes a hand over her braided hair, shushing her softly as they rocked back and forth.

“Arya, you are an amazing skater, and I know that you know that. You don’t need me to tell you that. But I can, as often as you want me to. Because I know that you have what it takes to win this, and take home another gold medal, okay?” He pulls back, wiping away the single tear that had fallen with his thumb before tugging her in for a kiss, doing his best to drive all the doubts from her mind with his lips.

Distangling himself, he holds her hands in front of him as he says, “Now, I have to go find a seat so I can watch you kick ass out there, will you be okay from here?” Wordlessly, she nods, back in the competitive zone. Gendry smiles at her, leans down to drop one more kiss to her lips, and is gone. She heads back over to Syrio, who looks at her out of the corner of his eye before nodding approvingly, guiding her over to the gate onto the rink as he murmurs last minute instructions.

Taking his words and his belief and his kiss with her onto the ice, she is flawless. She hits every jump, every trick, every last damn embellishment is placed exactly where she wants it to be. That stupid triple axel that no one had believed she could nail under such pressure, it is a masterpiece that she lands with an artful flourish, mentally squealing with her serene mask firmly in place.

She feels free. She feels like flying. She feels _golden._

And it’s enough. It’s enough for a world record, the judges unable to find a single fault in her lines. It’s enough for that solo gold she’s been dreaming of, that tangible piece of metal that shows all her naysayers exactly what Arya Stark can do.

Afterwards, after she receives both her little stuffed tiger (and no matter what Gendry says, they’re adorable) and her second gold medal, she takes his hand and leads him back to his room, for a more private celebration than the one awaiting her in Canada House. 

Slowly, he strips her, letting calloused hands drift over the marks left from her tight skating dress, kissing each softly, reverently. He practically worships her, taking his time to make her fall apart at the seams again and again before he even thinks of entering her.

As they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, a small smile crosses Arya’s face as she starts to plan exactly how she’ll be rewarding him for his own gold medal in two days’ time.

* * *

It’s only been a couple of weeks since he’d seen Arya, had relaxed with her in his arms while they waited in the airport to go home, but those few weeks had been hell. They hadn’t made any promises, nothing had been agreed upon other than enjoying each other while they were in the bubble. But somewhere in the whirlwind that had been the Pyeongchang games, her presence had become so ingrained in him that his very body was rebelling for want of her. 

Gendry wasn’t sleeping well, and his own teammates were beginning to notice that his admittedly short temper for bullshit was growing even shorter. As soon as he’d stepped off the plane from Korea, it felt like he’d immediately been thrown back into the season, heading out with the Hawks just days later for the annual swing through California. 

Arya was somewhere up north doing press as Canada’s newest golden girl with the other figure skaters, booking interview after interview. She’d kept up a steady stream of texts, something he was incredibly grateful for, though a part of him was waiting for those the peeter off, for her to realize that she was destined for far greater things than a hockey player who never went to college.

But for now, he was willing to take whatever pieces of her time she wanted to spend with him. Pulling out his phone, he stared at the picture of them she’d insisted he take with her, medals gleaming around both of their necks. He hadn’t been looking at the camera at all, solely focused on the beautiful woman in his arms. 

Sighing, he finally gathered up all his courage and called her, brightening immediately when she answered on the first ring with a breathless, “Gendry.”

Gendry can’t help the smile her voice instantly brings, uncurling some of the tension that has been strangling his insides for days. “Hey, Arya.” 

“It’s nice to hear you, texting just isn’t the same.” She snorts, then continues, “Somehow, I swear you’re actually worse at texting than you are at talking in person, which really just goes to show what an old man you are.”

“Oh, like that’s—”

“Sorry,” she interrupted, “I’m getting in an elevator, give me a minute.” He waits, listening to the faint sound of background music, until finally he could hear a distinct _bing_ before she said, “Okay, we’re good, now how exactly were you planning on defending yourself, because we both know what I said is utterly true.” 

Swallowing back his fear of rejection, he blurted out, “So if, um, hypothetically speaking, I were to ask you out to dinner once we’re both back in Chicago, would you say yes?” 

“Hypothetically speaking, I absolutely would.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and gods if it didn’t make his heart flutter, the prospect of picking up where they’d left off, only better this time, more secure in their relationship. And then she continued, “I even, hypothetically speaking of course, might be willing to go out tonight, since I know you have the night off.”

“Huh?” Instead of a verbal answer, he heard an insistent knocking on the door, from _both_ ends of this phone call. Rushing over to his hotel room door, he pulled it open, barely believing his eyes that she was really, truly in front of him, phone at her ear and a rolling suitcase at her feet.

Ending the call, she looked up at him through her lashes rather sheepishly. “I may have, hypothetically, bothered your linemates via twitter until one of them agreed to give me your room number.”

Pulling her into a crushing hug, he just breathes in the oh so familiar scent of her hair, still sure this is a dream and he’ll wake up again, lonely and reaching out for her. “Really?”

He can practically hear her eyes roll as she huffs. “Of course I did, stupid. Like I said, I missed you.” She leans back, hooded gaze staring up at him. “I didn’t want to wait to see you, and besides, I only really have the next week or two off before the worst of training for Worlds sets in, and I wanted to spend as much of them with my boyfriend as I could. Even if it has to be out in California.” She said the last word like it was the dirtiest of curses, her nose all scrunched up in disgust.

She was absolutely adorable.

Unable to control himself any longer, the hand he had on the back of her neck gently hauled her smiling mouth up to his own for a kiss. It’s slow and deep and so different from any they’d shared during the Olympics. This one is a promise, on both their parts, of endless possibilities for a future together. She’d called him her boyfriend, and if that wasn’t an obvious statement of intent, he didn’t know what was.

Drawing back just far enough that he can look down into her eyes, he asks, unable to believe how sure he is of her response when minutes ago everything between them had felt so shaky, “So we’re actually doing this? Strings and all?”

Her grey eyes glittered as she pulled him down again to murmur against his lips, “We’re totally doing this Waters, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” She kissed him again as he laughed, grins making it hard for their mouths to do much more than brush into each other. But resting his forehead to Arya’s, he closed his eyes and just breathed, so happy to have her with him. Restless fingers started playing with the buttons of his shirt, dragging him out of his own head to swoop down and mold his mouth with hers, pulling her close enough that he could feel every line of her body.

Not letting their lips detach, he backed further into the hotel room, dragging Arya and her suitcase in with him. Once they were clear of the hallway, he kicked the door closed and threw her over his shoulder as she laughed, all thoughts of going out tonight vanished from his mind.

  
  



End file.
